


The Boldest Measures are the Safest

by fowo



Category: Dishonored (Video Game)
Genre: Character Study, Drabbles, F/M, Gen, Rating May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-04-26 02:23:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 3,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4986466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fowo/pseuds/fowo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another drabble gallore, this time in the Dishonored universe!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“He’s not gonna make it,” Daud said matter-of-factly.

“Have some faith,” Thomas commented softly.

“Bet you ten coin,” Daud said, without even looking.

Thomas watched in silence and winced when the recruit fell down with a dull thud, followed by the unmistakable whimper of pain after landing on the hard soil face-first. He passed Daud the money without any comment.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They wondered about him, but made no comment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by my current replay, knowing I would skip much of the game, and trying to find every little thing as early as possible before... things happen.

Pendleton and Havelock watched in respectful, but no less confused silence as Corvo, right after meeting them for the first time, proceeded to go to every door of the pub, open it to see which way it opened, whether or not the hinges creaked when he did, how opaque the tinted glass was. He sprinted from one staircase to the next, checking how many steps it took and where to tread so he wouldn't make a sound. Then he left the bar room without a word. Pendleton and Havelock exchanged a look, and then carefully followed along. They found the Lord Protector outside, crouching on one of the trash containers that had been toppled over long ago, spilling their insides over the cobblestone. There was nobody left to care about it.

Corvo sat still, like a gargoyle, only carefully conveying the surroundings. Nothing happened and Pendleton grew uncomfortable, wondering if Corvo was still breathing. "What is he doing?" he asked Havelock softly, who only shrugged with crossed arms.

"Scouting," he said, but it sounded more like a question.

"I guess being a bodyguard all your life is nothing that leaves the system easily," Pendleton mused while Corvo jumped off the container, checking the rest of the secluded street for hiding spots.

"He was eighteen when he started his job, I don't suppose he knows anything else but this. Well, and prison." Havelock lifted himself off the door frame that he had been leaning against, turning back to the pub. "Leave him be. Let's go back inside, you'll only catch the plague out here."

They left the door open for Corvo, who watched them go, before turning back his head to the roof and the question of there was a way to climb up without being exposed to every hypothetical viewer. Not without magic, he thought bitterly, turning his gaze back down to the routes that were possible for him to climb.

He liked to be prepared.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before Dishonored 2 makes a mute Corvo impossible, have a quick one.

None of the loyalists could sign. Well, Martin knew how to say "stay away from me, witch." Something he had picked up along his career. Besides this, Corvo was left alone in his head. But that was okay; he listened instead, and limited himself to nodding and shaking his head. The loyalists didn't need him to talk anyway, and quickly adopted to not asking him questions at all.

It got better when Emily returned. Even she talked a lot, jabbering away like small girls do. Singing and talking to herself when she sat at the table in the pub, drawing pictures, or out with Callista to see if they could find even a single weed to pick and call a flower. But Corvo could talk back now, his hands writing invisible letters into the air just for her, and she would reply in the same manner, although her mouth would speak and laugh in between.

This was the only times the loyalists would ever see the Lord Protector smile.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spymaster!Daud keeps me breathing. An attempt.

They let him keep the dark scarlet color of his old garbs. The new ruffled collar is starched and itches on his skin. He feels like he has to carry his head higher than he's comfortable with. He wonders if this is why the nobles are always so keen to shed their clothes in favor of naked flesh for coin.

 He feels guilty for the thought immediately when his eyes meet the young Empress'. She looks more mature now that she's a few years into her reign. She's starting to become a woman and he can tell she will look like her mother one day; although in her eyes, there is something that she shares with the Lord Protector. He is standing behind her, a little to the left of her throne. He always seems to be right behind her, like a shadow. He doesn't wear the mask anymore, but his expression is just as set and firm, and as grim as the skull was. Daud finds himself avoiding his gaze whenever they meet; even after all these years he feels guilty. He _is_ guilty. He always will be.

 The ceremony seems to stretch forever, but when it's over he hardly remembers that it happened. He listens to himself recite the words he learned by heart, and when she gives him the clue, he turns. He hears her say the words _Royal Spymaster Daud_ , his new title. He swears he can hear the Outsider laugh in the Void. His ears ring with the applause that fills the room.

 He didn't ask for this and certainly didn't want it, but nevertheless he said yes without hesitating. By becoming the Royal Spymaster he hopes for redemption. He hopes, although he should know better. He will look at her every day now, he will see her growing up, knowing what he took from her... from both of them. Should he ever forget, he is sure the Lord Protector will remind him gladly.

 He feels like he's wearing himself like a costume when after the formal ceremony is done and everyone moves into another hall to eat and drink. He feels like he's watching himself like he is in the Void, standing there in his fancy suit of red velvet and polished black boots, marked hand hidden away under new suede leather gloves. He holds a wine glass but he doesn't remember drinking. He wonders if he should say something to the Empress, watching her from the distance as she makes light conversation with her people. She is truly formidable. He adores her.

 He snaps out of it only when he sees the Lord Protector approach. He stiffens, and only when he hers her voice does he realize he was, as always, just accompanying his Empress. He looks down to her, the urge to kneel instead rising. He withstands it, his kneecaps twitching.

 "You look uncomfortable, Royal Spymaster," she says. The title mocks him. He can't read her.

 "My apologies, my Empress," he answers, teeth never unlocking. He can't hold her gaze, staring a little to the side of her head, locking on to her earring. She already wears her hair in a fancy up-do like noble women do. He still remembers a little girl, tugging at the grip of his hand. Her wrists so tiny and fragile like snow.

 "You have been given a grand opportunity," Empress Emily Kaldwin tells him. "Know that if Corvo hadn't asked me, I would have never even considered you. Your feet touching this very ground insults me, but I am prepared to look past your actions. Everybody deserves a chance. Do not waste yours."

 "I will not disappoint you, Your Majesty," he says. His collar cuts into his throat. He feels like he is suffocating.

 "I trust you won't," she says, and turns, he he loses sight of her in the crowd.

 The Lord Protector lingers, oddly enough. Only reluctantly, Daud rises his gaze to meet Corvo's, his mere presence telling him to. 

 Corvo opens his mouth, but to his own confusion, Daud is faster. "Why did you bring me here?" he chokes out. The question has kept him awake at night for every single night in the past months that he struggled to understand what was happening to him.

 Corvo shrugs idly with one shoulder. "You can put your talents to better use here than in the Flooded District," he says, and Daud supposes that might be true, somehow. "Also, it's easier for me to keep an eye on you. Two, if I can spare them." The addition is hardly surprising.

 "Is this my punishment?" Daud asks when Corvo turns to leave him. He looks back again.

 "Only if you want it to be," he answers. "But maybe you'll wake one day and find that it isn't. You chose the shackles you wear, you know." Then he follows Emily, like he always does, and Daud is left behind to watch them.

 He promises himself he will never look away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. I'm still looking for someone to edit my Dishonored works, so send me a message if you're up for it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of Corvo and Jessamine

When he first comes to Gristol, his hands are coarse and calloused and tan like ripe olives. He is only eighteen, but the Duke speaks of him in highest tones, and he gifts Corvo to the Emporer, proud of his country.

Corvo was never vain and never cared much for how he looked like. He has the hair and the eyes of a Serkonan, he's tall and guard duty steeled his muscles. Nevertheless, he never noticed the looks the girls gave him, giggling to each other when he walked past them in the streets, donning a fancy uniform that his comrades tell him many women like.

He never cared.   


Now he is standing in front of the young princess, the girl that will be his Empress one day, and she is fair and fragile and her skin white like Tyvian snow. The mole over her lip is more emphasis than tarnish. 

 

Suddenly, he feels inadequate and crude; primitive, and no matter how he shines his boots, the soles are worn through and the knees of his trousers are threadbare. The first words he remembers speaking to her are his apologies.

 

Years later, she kisses him first. He draws back, shocked by her boldness (though not really surprised, given how fiery she is) and embarrassed because there is nothing he could offer her. She laughs at his shyness, and the sound is making his heart skip a beat. She takes his hands, and she leads him, and he follows.

 

He will always follow her, no matter where she goes, that's what he tells himself that night. He reminds himself of this when young Lady Emily is born; fatherless, of course, and nobody ever asked questions, although Corvo hears the maids gossip. But Jessamine doesn't care, and if she doesn't, he won't, either. Emily grows up to be a wonderful child, and she adores him, and he is content in his place.

 

He has everything and more than he ever dreamed of.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A drabble with Thomas and Rulfio, taking advantage of how Slackjaw’s boys got into Bunting’s apartment… and what they find there.
> 
> Mostly silly, kinda canon-divergence.

They had four people on the Bottle Street rooftops since the Royal Protector had taken out High Overseer Campbell, and so elegantly. Thomas and Rulfio just passed by after a trip to the Abbey and wanted to check on the recruits on their way back downstream. 

“Nothing of importance, sir,” one of the Whalers said when they blinked to the balcony where he was kneeling to keep an eye on the Bottle Street Gang. Thomas thought it was either Vladko or Aedan, but he had a hard time telling the new recruits apart. Since Billie, he had taken up more work than he could comfortably handle, and didn’t train as much with the others as he had before. Daud had him on his toes at all times. 

“Okay, but keep being watchful,” Rulfio said, supervising the recruits these days, and most likely knowing who he was talking to. “I expect the Bottle Street Gang will make a move sooner than later. You gotta keep an eye out, alright?”

“Yessir,” the recruit said with a quick salute.

There was a pause. With the masks it was impossible to tell, but Thomas was good at reading body language. “Anything else?” he asked, prompting the recruit gently.

“Well, Bunting is away today, they’re reopening the Golden Cat today,” the recruit answered. “We saw four of Slackjaw’s men break into Bunting’s house earlier.”

Thomas was about to dismiss it, but he could almost see Rulfio’s eyes behind the mask light up. “We need to get back to the hideout,” he said, putting a hand on Rulfio’s arm to make him tag along. “Bunting’s not of importance to us.”

Rulfio spun around, slapping his hand away. “That’s _Bunting_ we’re talking about! D'you have any idea how much cash he has to have in his house? We can’t let the thugs take it all. They know nothing about art!”

“What do _you_ know about art?” Thomas asked suspiciously, and Rulfio kind of puffed up, hands on his hips.

“I spent two years at the Academy, Thomas,” he said, not without a hint of pride. “So, actually, quite a bit.” He turned back to the sentry. “Stand guard, see to it that nobody follows inside.”

“Are you kidding me?” Thomas asked, and held his breath when Rulfio grabbed his hand, and blinked them both down the balcony and to Bunting’s back door. “Don’t do that!” he said with his next breath. “I can perfectly walk and blink on my own.”

“Yeah, but not in the direction I want,” Rulfio said cheerfully, testing the door. The lock was busted, and the hinges creaked when he pushed it open.

“This is a bad idea,” Thomas groaned when Rulfio slipped into the dark house, but he followed anyway. There were indeed four of Slackjaw’s men inside, but with a few well-aimed blinks, the two of them took them out easily and without sound. The thugs were obviously only after the safe that was locked close, and, even though Rulfio gave a few half-assed attempts, remained so.

But he had been right, they knew nothing about art. Many of the frames still had pictures in them and were untouched. With every canvas Rulfio found, he got more extatic. “We need to get these all out,” he told Thomas, going up the stairs with a frame as large as he was tucked under his arm. “We can cash these for so much coin, we’ll eat like nobles for two months at _least_!”

Thomas knew nothing of art and followed hesistantly. “Do pictures really bring that much money?”

“Dude, these are real Sokolovs!” Rulfio said with a tone of disbelief in his voice. “Even you must realize that that’s a big fucking deal? Hold on, I want to check upstairs for more.”

“Alright, but hurry up,” Thomas groaned, waiting by the stairs to keep the door in view while Rulfio shuffled through the apartment in search for something of value. He turned a corner and Thomas didn’t hear anything for a while, and then Rulfio’s barking laughter made him flinch. “Keep it down, for Void’s sake,” he hissed and rushed to where Rulfio was; Bunting’s bedroom apparently. Rulfio was leaning against the doorframe, gripping his sides as he was wheezing with laughter. He just pointed past him and into the room as he took off his mask. Thomas shot him a sour look, turned the corner—and froze.

Daud was staring down to him from a life-size oil painting, even to Thomas’ novice eye by Sokolov’s hands. Thomas thought it was a better picture than, say, Lady Boyle’s famous backside, but that was just his opinion. Rulfio was wiping away tears from his eyes next to him. He was giggling like a schoolgirl. “I heard Bunting has exquisite tastes, but _this_ ,” he wheezed. “We _have_ to take this. Daud is gonna be _so_ mad when he sees it.”

Thomas was sure Daud would be, and he didn’t want to anger his master, but it _did_ seem like a waste not to take this. “He looks so young,” he muttered, stepping closer to the canvas to examine it more closely.

“Should I leave this for you, so _you_ can hang it up over your bed?” Rulfio asked slyly and laughed when Thomas punched him in the arm, hard. “Ow!”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Daud/Lizzy drabble I wrote to accompany [some fanworks](http://fowo.tumblr.com/post/139543249591/it-was-for-a-job-lizzy-complained-but-by-the)

It was for a job. Lizzy complained, but by the fourth dance Daud could see she was actually enjoying herself. He wouldn’t have admitted it, but it made his chest swell with pride. Lizzy was still Lizzy, of course, and taunted him for knowing how to dance in the first place, but he let her snide remarks slide, focussing on her flushed face instead. When she kissed him, he let her, and when she told him she’d wait for him after his job, he was actually looking forward to it.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And another Daud/Lizzy drabble because these two own my soull.

“There’s a snag,” Lizzy tells him, and she’s a little worried; Daud looks tense and agitated and it’s a far cry from the cool, collected assassin she knows him to be.

But Daud grins a little in the corner of his mouth. “Always is,” he says, and Lizzy relaxes; he has her back, like he always does, he will help, and she will help in return, although she has a vague feeling that she’s sending him into his own doom this time for real.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For tumblr, "family"

Daud loved his mother, but his mother didn’t always love him. Raped by a pirate, against all odds she decided to have the child, fiercly convinced a boy born out of spite to rage against the machinery he was thrown into would grow up tp be something great.

Daud loved his mother, although she would hit him when he did poorly at school, or she caught him stealing, or just when she had a day of regretting that she didn’t concoct a brew that would make her bleed the souless lump of flesh and blood out from between her thighs.

Daud loved his mother, even when he was taken away.

She was his only family, and in the years that followed, although there were people around him, it would never again really be the same.

When Daud was twenty, he took in the first two boys that would later become the Whalers. Younger than him anbd much less experienced, Daud quickly became something of an older brother to them, although he never had any siblings by blood.

Many others followed in the next decades—to some, Daud was a brother, to some others, more of a father-figure. For some, he knew, maybe more, although he did never dwell too long on that thought. This was not what this was about.

He cared for them. He knew all of them by name, even though the uniforms and the masks conceiled any individual features. Every single one of them had a story, and he knew every single one of them.

Daud thought of his mother when he scolded them for slacking off, he thought of her when he could spent some of his money to feed them something nice. Daud thought of his mother when he barked orders out at them, and when he praised them for a job well done.

He called them his people, but they were his family.


End file.
